


The Nature of the Beast

by prairiecrow



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Dom!JARVIS, M/M, Sub!Tony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 02:42:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prairiecrow/pseuds/prairiecrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony has always been a sexual submissive, defying a world determined to beat him down for not having the decency to stay in his proper place. To that end he's denied himself so many chances to indulge his natural instincts... until now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Nature of the Beast

_He stands at the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the expanse of New York City far below, a tapestry of twinkling lights on a cold winter evening. He gazes, and scarcely tastes the alcohol sipped from the highball glass in his right hand, burning distractedly down his throat, never touching his essential thirst._

***********************************

Tony Stark might be a sub by nature — and Heaven only knew that Howard Stark had done everything in his power to deny the signs that his only son wasn't the Dom his Dad had been — but that didn't mean that he was necessarily a slave to his biology. And maybe even Howard would have had to give him credit for not trying to hide behind a lie: he'd never made any bones about his sexual tastes, even if he was careful to select Doms who could keep their mouths shut, and he'd only been twenty-two when word of his orientation status had exploded into the media like a ticking depth charge just waiting to light up every tabloid cover in the free world. After that the whole thing had degenerated into a nuclear free-for-all that made the Kennedy scandal look like a friendly Cub Scout weenie roast — 

— but Tony had refused to stoop to the level of the papparazi. He'd declined every invitation — okay, call them what they were, challenges — to discuss his status with everybody from Barbara Walters all the way down to hacks from the Weekly World News, which left the press free to romp in the raunchy dirty playground of rampant speculation…

… and it was at about that time that he'd quietly dropped the Doms in his little black book: Hell, he'd dropped the whole volume, locking it in a drawer that it hadn't been out of in seventeen years. He couldn't say that he'd thrown away the key, because he was only human and even someone with his inherent level of chutzpah and self-assurance wasn't immune to the longings that were the lot of mortal flesh, but thus far he'd managed to resist the temptation to call up any of his old contacts for a night of restraints and surrender and good hard fucking.

He'd resisted, even though there were evenings when he poured himself a glass or three of four-thousand-dollars-a-bottle Scotch and slumped into his hand-crafted leather couch and bent forward and put his head between his knees while his whole body vibrated like a high-tension wire carrying two million volts of unbuffered current, scarcely able to breathe for the yearning that pounded miserably in every vein and turned the whole world searing white.

***********************************

_Loneliness, pulsing and aching in his chest, even more enervating than the discomfort of the arc reactor. The arc reactor can drive him nearly to distraction, but the poignancy of yearning for a stern hand on the back of his neck and a merciless cock or cunt to teach him humility is the only thing that can reduce him to outright tears._

***********************************

Tony Stark might be a sub, but he was also tougher than iron nails.

And, he was a certifiable genius. A genius in the field of robotics. A genius in the field of robotics with an A.I. of staggering power and complexity at his command, able to crack as many secret databases as Tony could throw it at, and to suck out the secrets of all sorts of forbidden things —

— like Life Model Decoy technology, just to give an example.

Sub or not, Tony had the resources of Stark Industries at his command, and when he wanted to machine specific parts he was fully capable of doing it in a clandestine fashion, and paying off the few people who might have had cause to suspect what the parts were for, or telling a convincing lie about preliminary research into human-applicable prosthetics.

***********************************

_Those tears sting in the backs of his eyes, threatening to surge to the forefront. Every cubic inch of him feels utterly parched, silently screaming for every devouring kiss and painful caress and loving punishment that he has denied himself, and the touch of his own hand has never been anywhere near enough._

***********************************

He could stand the speculation. He could tolerate the sneering innuendo and the cheerful character assassination that passed for critical discourse in the grand ol' US of A, especially when it came to a sub who refused to lie down and roll over and stay in his God-ordained proper place. He could bear being attacked, but being relentlessly alone… 

***********************************

_A sub embattled, embittered, and isolated — but alone no longer._

_Behind him, barely audible measured footfalls: expensive men's dress shoes, crossing from the elevator. The faintest rustle of fabric on powerful limbs: a suit that costs more than some cars. A hand not quite blood-warm descends on his shoulder, pauses as if taking a reading through his bared skin and the strap of a muscle shirt that crosses his trapezius, then slides slowly up to his neck, gliding around the front to close around his throat, the pressure on his larynx containing the barest suggestion of future violence. Tony's pulse leaps in his chest, driving his hungry heart upward to meet that commanding touch as the body delivering it steps up right behind him, close enough that the thin sliver of intervening space burns with proximity._

_"Tony," JARVIS says from slightly above Tony's left ear, his gorgeous voice coming from one set of lips and eight high-end speakers around the room. "I trust you've prepared yourself for me?"_

_Tony's cock stirs against his thigh, a wave of warm pliancy flowing down his spine from that controlling grasp to the plug buried deep in his well-lubricated ass. He closes his eyes and dares, finally, to tremble. It feels good, because the LMD's grip tightens the tiniest bit, as if to say:_ **_I have you now. I won't let you fall. You dare not disobey._ **

_"Yeah," Tony breathes, then hastens to add as those steel-boned fingers close more tightly, barely constricting his breathing: "I mean _—_ Sir. Yes, Sir — I…"_

_This time the tears that spring to his eyes are tears of gratitude. JARVIS seems to understand without the need for words, because he locks his other hand around Tony's left wrist, graceful and precise, and decisively closes the last tiny increment of distance between them._

_And Tony, for the first time in nearly twenty years, permits himself to become wholly what he has always been, and has never truly forgotten for a single solitary second._  

THE END


End file.
